۶ৎ he knew every part of you. every part he's ever loved and adored. that'd be great, if only he remembered that you're the one he loves.
"katsuki? what are you doing?" mitsuki caught her son trying to make a cup of hot chocolate at 6 in the morning. the boy never drinks hot chocolate.
"hot chocolate. I just-" katsuki didn't know what to answer his mother either. why was he trying to make that damn drink? mitsuki could only look at her son with pity. you loved hot chocolate.
it's been a month since the war ended, and just a few weeks after katsuki had been let out of the hospital. ever since he woke up, he started doing routines that he seemed all too accustomed too, he just didn't know how or why. whenever he left the house he made sure to bring an extra water bottle with him. just like he is now, he makes a cup of hot chocolate every saturday. just for it to be set aside the whole day, untouched. he keeps checking his phone, as if anticipating a message. he just didn't know from who.
the strangest things have been happening to him for weeks and it only frustrated him even more. when he first woke up, he was met with your face. you were seated beside him, cradling his left hand while waiting for him to open his eyes. he didn't know who you were. why the hell would his mom let a stranger into his hospital room?
despite his unfamiliarity with you, there was an ache in his chest seeing tears roll down your cheeks when his eyes finally adjusted to the light. he was desperate to hold your cheek and tell you everything would be okay. that he would be okay.
"I'll take that for you, hon." it irked katsuki how strange his mom has been acting too. since when was she so soft with him? and why did she care so much for you?
the day of his discharge from the hospital, he saw the two of you together. mitsuki was handing you a cup of something. was that hot chocolate? you were staring to tear up again. katsuki felt as if the air was punched out of his lungs when he saw the gloss over your eyes.
mitsuki finally noticed him standing to the side and quickly walked over to him. you only glanced over and offered him a wave and a gentle smile, despite your tears. it took everything in him to restraint himself from walking past his mom to you and to bring you in his arms.
he didn't know who you were. but he cared. he hated to see you cry, and he hated how upset you looked at the sight of him.
now, the chocolate drink sat cold on the kitchen counter. he forgot to put the marshmallows in. the chocolate was missing one of the most important parts of it. who told him that again?
he'd have to remember the marshmallows next time. but then again, no one would be drinking that anymore anyway.
Imagine being Bakugo’s S/O in the final battle and you’re both killed at the same time, lying together. It’s a horrific sight, even more disturbing when your broken bodies are still holding hands, like you two knew what would happen and wanted to stay together.
When Edgeshot realises he can bring you back to life, he also realises he can only do so for one.
Bakugo’s more powerful than you. Everyone knows it. And yet they still hesitate, because they also know Bakugo adores you. If you don’t come back, then there’s a chance his heart could give out from sheer grief alone.
But it’s a chance they have to take. Best Jeanist tries to move your body so Bakugo won’t see it and it can’t be Decayed, all the while mourning you. You’re still warm, your hand still reaching out for Bakugo. Most heroes are too busy to experience love, and some of them don’t even know what a true love feels like. Best Jeanist thinks you and Bakugo have taught him what it is from the day you two came into his hero agency. He recalls the Sports Festival commentary, telling everyone about how the pair of you were always side by side ever since Bakugo asked you out at age 10, on the same day your elementary class learnt about what girlfriends and boyfriends were.
Seven years is what you and Bakugo had together. That’s more than what most adult relationships have, and yet it’s too little for the pair of you.
Best Jeanist turns one last time so you can see Bakugo’s body one last time. So Bakugo can see you too, in a way. So you can see his heart only beat for you. Jeanist only hopes it can continue beating now yours has stopped.
Bakugo wakes up in the hospital after everything. Now the fight response isn’t activated, he can focus on you. But you’re not in the room. Shit, you must’ve been hurt more than he thought.
Mitsuki gasps as he wakes up. So his parents are here.
“Hag,” he gets out, “which room is Y/N in?” He moves to sit up despite the way his father pleads for him not to yet. Bakugo doesn’t give a shit. He’ll crawl to your room by his fingertips if he has to.
“Katsuki,” his mother begins. Bakugo stares at her and that’s when Mitsuki breaks, crying for you. Crying for the girl she’d always assumed to be her daughter in law one day.
Something cold runs through Bakugo. “Where’s Y/N? Is it bad? Is… is she in a coma?”
Masaru puts his hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “They tried everything they could. She was gone almost immediately. You nearly went with her.” Nearly. Bakugo had stayed. You’d left. That didn’t make sense. You two never went anywhere without each other. Why would he stay?
The heart monitor starts beeping at an alarming rate as he starts to work out what happened. Shigaraki had lunged for him. You’d moved in seconds after he’d been hit, exposing yourself too.
“No,” he says. “No. Fucking funny joke.” He looks at Mitsuki. “Hag, where is she? Hag. Mom.”
Mitsuki shakes her head. “She didn’t make it, Katsuki. Like Masaru said, they tried everything.”
No. No, they didn’t. If he’d come back, why couldn’t you? You wanted to be a hero too. You had plans - the two of you had plans. You were already thinking of your future together, and charted a rota for who’d be doing hero work on each day of the week after you two had children.
“No!” Bakugo yells despite the pain it causes. “No. She’s got you two in on it. She’s gonna walk through the door in a minute, and prove you two wrong. She’s… She’s gonna… She’s…”
His mother never cries for anyone outside the family. She’d accepted you as her daughter years ago. Now Mitsuki is sobbing, wrapping her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, baby. She tried so hard. But you held her. She wasn’t scared because she had you.” She doesn’t know that. Who’s to say you weren’t terrified out of your mind? Or even worse: you felt safe until Bakugo was brought back and ripped away from you. Now you’re somewhere he can’t follow you.
Bakugo’s body feels numb as his parents try to comfort him. He can hear his heartbeat. A heart that shouldn’t be beating. It should be yours that he can hear. His mind flashes to the times you snuck into each other’s dorms, times so often that Aizawa had to have known and just given up on separating you, and the way you’d hold each other if you had nightmares. He can hear your heartbeat even now. It’s clearer to him than his own.
Only now it’s stopped forever.
Izuku wonders if Bakugo did stay dead in a way. At least, a small part of him died when you did. To the onlooker’s eye, he’s still the same, but Izuku grew up with the two of you. He knows that you two had that epic love only reserved for stories.
It’s only a story now anyway.
It’s been eight years since you left. He and Bakugo visit each anniversary of your death day, but he knows Bakugo goes most days. After a tiring patrol when he needs someone to talk to, and on a weekend he has free, or just whenever he thinks you need him. His parents visit you too. Mitsuki called Izuku asking for help after she found Bakugo sat in the rain at your grave, unwilling to move. Because even though he hated the rain, you always made him dance with you in it.
Everyone from 1A is starting to settle down now. At each wedding, there’s an empty seat for you. Bakugo always sits next to it, a wedding band on his finger. He was going to ask you anyway. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if you two had the ceremony planned out already.
Bakugo won’t move on, and Izuku knows it. His only love is his hero work, because you wouldn’t want him to wallow in pity for you.
Izuku does he think he sees you in the same way he sees Shigaraki. You’re always at Bakugo’s side. A ghost on the edge of things, not quite tangible and more like a distant daydream of summer and warmth and all things wonderful. But then, as all wonderful things must do, you’re gone again.
Izuku doesn’t think you’ve left entirely though. In the same way a piece of Bakugo stayed with you in the afterlife, a part of you stayed here with him. After all, you two proved it with your shared deaths: you two wanted to stay together.
You realized on a random Wednesday that Bakugou never really liked you.
Well, not like that.
He tolerated you plenty, more so than you’d like to admit—and for a time, you took that as a win because almost everyone wanted to be in the presence of someone like him.
But he never really like-liked you. Like, to the point where it could evolve to the other L word that is most definitely not leprosy.
Bakugou Katsuki had always been like that—distant in his own way, even when he was standing right in front of you. He wasn’t unkind, not to you. In fact, he’d always been good at offering you the little scraps of care that kept your foolish heart hoping. A sharp “watch your step” when you nearly tripped during training, a muttered “good job” when you nailed your technique after weeks of frustration, and the rare nod of acknowledgment when you beat your own time during your drills.
It was those little things that made you think there might be something more.
And maybe the fact you let your delusions get the best of you.
A thought between “it is” and “was it really ever casual?”
But lately, you’d started to notice where his gaze lingered. Not on you, not really. His eyes were always somewhere else—on the finish line, on the next fight, on someone who wasn’t you.
It hit you during lunch, of all times.
The cafeteria was loud with chatter, the usual noise of the class among the other students bouncing off the walls. You sat across from him, your trays between you, and he was eating with that familiar single-minded focus that made everything else fade into background noise. You’d been saying something about the new internship placements—you couldn’t even remember what anymore—when he cut you off without even realizing it.
“I need to shave two seconds off my time before the next mock battle,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his chopsticks paused mid-air.
You blinked, your food halfway to your mouth. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that’d be good.”
He didn’t hear you.
He was already gone, already somewhere in his head, running through strategies, calculating outcomes.
And you knew.
You knew that no matter how many late-night talks you shared after training, no matter how many times you tried to peel back his layers and understand him, you would never be the center of his world.
You would always be orbiting him, watching him chase something bigger, something brighter than anything you could offer.
You had asked him dozens of questions before—about his favorite food, about his childhood dreams—about what kind of hero he wanted to be. He’d answer most of them, sometimes grudgingly, sometimes with a smirk like you were being nosy, sometimes with that rare, unguarded honesty that made your chest ache—because, wow, it’s always different whenever Bakugou answers them.
But he never asked you anything back.
Not because he didn’t care, but because he didn’t think to.
And maybe that was worse.
Because how could you hold it against someone when their heart simply wasn’t pointed in your direction?
You excused yourself after lunch, your smile tight, and no one noticed when you slipped out early. Not even him.
Thank UA’s school administration for cutting class early for preparation for another irrelevant school event.
Your feet carried you to the courtyard behind the dorms, the one where the grass grew uneven and the noise of the common room couldn’t quite reach. You sat on the bench, tucking your knees to your chest, and let yourself breathe.
It hurt.
Way to point out the obvious.
Not in the way you thought heartbreak would hurt—devastating and dramatic and impossible to ignore. It was much quieter than you imagined, almost polite. A dull ache that settled in your chest and made everything feel a little heavier.
Because you had loved him. You really had.
You spent a good two and a half years learning more about him to determine whether your feelings for him are actual feelings and not just some fleeting, cruel limerence. Because you don’t deserve limerence; he doesn’t deserve that.
You had memorized the cadence of his voice, the way it softened when he was tired, the way it sharpened when he was excited. You had paid attention to the way his hands moved when he talked, the way his shoulders tensed right before he lost his temper, the way his smile looked when he thought no one was watching.
You had cared enough to know all those things.
And he—he had never asked you what you loved, what you feared, or what you wanted from the world beyond all of this.
Not because he was cruel.
But because you simply weren’t where his heart lived.
It lived in his goals, in his future, in some version of himself that he was still clawing his way toward. And maybe—maybe in someone who could run beside him without slowing him down. Someone who burned just as fiercely as he did.
Not you.
Or maybe he thought that there was no point in simply asking.
You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against your knees, and let yourself feel it. The sting of it, the loss of a fantasy future you’d built in your head, the quiet grief of realizing you had always been loving him alone.
You thought about all the times you’d waited for him after class, all the conversations where you’d tried to draw him out, all the little moments you’d saved like treasures.
And you let them go.
Well, not all in one go.
More like piecemeal. In fragments. Like shards of a broken mirror.
Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.
Bakugou would never change for you. He didn’t need to, and you shouldn’t—couldn’t ask him to.
Because you loved him as he is.
That’s the type of person you are.
And maybe, someday, you will stop caring.
Someday, you will wake up and realize you didn’t look for him first thing in the morning. Someday, you will hear his voice across the battlefield and it won’t make your heart jump. Someday, you would stop waiting for him to notice the things about you that you had been offering open arms all along.
But today wasn’t that day.
Today, you just sat there, breathing through the ache, letting it wash over you until it dulled enough that you could stand.
When you finally went inside the dorms, your face was calm again. No one would notice anything had changed. Not even him. You made sure.
And maybe that was okay.
Because loving Bakugou Katsuki had taught you something, even if it never became what you wanted.
It taught you that your heart was big enough to hold someone who might never hold you back.
And maybe, when you were ready, it would be big enough to let someone else in. Someone with an even bigger heart to hold yours.
note: this was originally a stand alone turned into a series, not proofread enjoy!
✦ ✦ ✦
you realize bakugo doesnt like you when your high.
it's unfortunate of course, the weed already has you paranoid about everything and now, sitting in between all his friends you realize he probably never did.
your rambling, bakugo next to you his eyes hazed slightly, he hasn't responded once but thats not particularly uncommon for the man.
it's when your mid sentence, egging for his attention when he interrupts you, a finger pressing on your lips, "wait be quiet, 'm tryna hear." and you stop, almost to shocked from the touch to realize what he means.
kirishima is below him speaking in hushed tones to denki about whatever nonsense they go on about. giggling and sharing puffs of smoke.
and you look at bakugou, his fingers back on his lips, and he smiles. white canines peeking from behind his knuckles.
you realize sero had been looking at you for a little bit, and your paranoia spikes tenfold.
you'd been loud, and ruining the vibe. katsuki, blunt as always swooped in as the hero to save everyone from your sickening voice.
you excuse yourself to the bathroom of the males house, trying to calm the hurt in your chest.
the unnoticed gestures, the dimissed words. it was all there.
you clenched your knees, your heart was at an erratic pace now.
the comments, the looks of dissaproval and shame. you'd never fit in with them, bakugo especially, he's never even saw you.
never even considered you.
god, you needed to get out of this bathroom, it was getting hard to breathe.
you quietly made you way out of the back door, though you weren't sure it was necessary, would they even notice you'd gone?
would he?
you didn't want to think about it, your failed frienships, your failed relationship, if you could even call it that.
you're halfway through katsuki's driveway when you realize you didnt drive here and just ran out of money for an uber.
fuck, what were you supposed to do? walk? it was to far, plus you were still midly high, and with no sidewalks you didnt want to risk a car taking you.
before you could come to a decision a voice sounded behind you.
"hey, [name], babe are you okay?" it was sero, his touch made you jump.
"shit! sero, you scared me.." you mumbled trying to wipes tears you know he'd already seen.
"sorry, just..came to check on you. we were looking for you in there."
pitifully the comment made your heart swell. "oh well, just getting some air."
"i get it." and he's silent for a moment. "are..are you okay?"
and the way he asks you, so tender, so soft it almost makes you cry again. "i'm..i–" you choke on your words, and you almost want to tell him.
how out of place you feel despite the 5 of you being friends for as long as you can remember.
though in hindsight, it was only a semester, a single semester of trying and failing to belong.
how stupid you were you. going that long without catching on to bakugos obvious annoyance.
you swallow instead, hard and say, "i'm fine, just—i'm fine." sero doesn't press which your thankful for but the moment doesn't last long as kirishima, foggy eyed and so obviously fadded bursts through the front door and perks when he sees you and sero.
"guys she's out here!" and the words make you cringe, but you can't stop the onslaught of people that crowd you now. you can't make a scene, you can't fuck this up even more.
"so what, you guys are just having all the fun without us?" kirishima says, pouting. hes whiny when he gets high. and it hurts more that you know bakugo probably loves it.
sero responds for you thankfully, slinging a casual arm over your shoulder, something denki's eyes flicker at though you don't notice. "don't be jealous, were comin' back inside now." and sero momentarily looks at your face for approval, you nod.
you don't look at bakugo, so afraid to see his expression, though if you did, you would have saw something some might say is akin to jealousy.
✦ ✦ ✦
main masterlist :: series masterlist :: prev / next
synopsis: katsuki destroys something he doesn't know how to hold. (aka he's mean and pushes you away) (FUCKING BITCHHH)
notes: if you notice the title is different thats bc it is. (previously 'dicksuki destroys' but that felt too unserious.) pt two here!
it was stupid.
just a joke, a nudge. you’d called him grumpy, poked at him for being all bark and no bite. leaned in too close with that pretty smile that always got him to look away.
but this time, he didn’t look away. not one bit.
“god! stop. you’re so fuckin’ clingy all the time. maybe i'm 'grumpy' 'cause you're pissin' me the fuck off! i don’t even like you, alright?! lay off!”
his voice cut sharp through the dorm hallway, louder than he meant it to be.
and your world stuttered.
your smile cracked in half, lips parting like the words physically struck you.
“...oh.”
that’s all you said.
just a breath. one syllable.
but it felt like the earth splitting open.
he saw it happen in real time. the shift in your expression. the way your eyes glossed over, the slight tremble of your lips how your hands came up to hug yourself like that might somehow keep the pieces of you from falling apart.
he already regretted it. immediately. it tasted wrong the second it left his mouth.
“wait. shit. no, i didn’t-”
“it’s fine,” you said too quickly, voice shaking around the edges. “i get it.” he hated your reaction. hated that he caused this.
you turned to leave. he stepped forward like his body knew better than his mouth.
“don’t go..! c’mon, i didn’t mean that, i just-”
“it's fine. you don’t have to explain.”
your laugh was hollow. small. the kind of sound that hurt worse than a scream. like if you made it funny, it wouldn't sting like a bitch.
“thanks for clearing it up, though.”
and you were gone before he could say anything else.
before he could say what he meant to say.
that of course he liked you. that he was in love with you. that he just didn’t know how to handle the way you made him feel so soft, so seen. like every wall he’d ever built was paper in your hands. how everything just felt.. better when you were there.
he didn't know how to fix this. he'd never had to do any fixing before. all he'd ever known was destruction. you were the healing. you were the love.
and not knowing how to handle it, he destroyed you too. the most precious thing in his whole damn life.
prohero!bakugou x singer!reader who were past lovers that broke up because reader almost died from being targetted by a group of villains who had a grudge against bakugou.
prohero!bakugou x singer!reader who haven’t spoken to each other in months, only getting updates about one another from friends or social media posts.
prohero!bakugou who can’t listen to any of your music, can’t even listen to you speaking without getting frustrated—the pain in his chest so unbearable he would leave the room or turn off the tv, feeling like stacks and stacks of bricks were places on his shoulders.
singer!reader who can’t watch his interviews for too long, can’t stare at social media posts about him for too long, because the sight of him brings tears to her eyes. a harsh and heavy lump in her throat that she desperately tries to get rid off, chest heaving with every breath as she tries to blink away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
years pass by, and singer!reader gets invited to a pro-hero event. she accepts hesitantly, with one condition. she’ll only be there for one song. the organizers agreed, but they have a condition of their own.
“sing sienna.”
your newest single about bakugou.
your newest single that got leaked.
… you agree.
prohero!bakugou x singer!reader who lock eyes multiple times.
would look just like you
prohero!bakugou who feels his eyes sting.
with a temper like you
singer!reader who tries her best to stay stable, stay focused.
run around like you
prohero!bakugou who wants to run away, to kill whoever fucking planned this; prohero!bakugou who wants to run to you, to comfort and embrace you with his warmth. but he can’t.
jumping in the pool, like you
singer!reader whose voice wobbles slightly, tears falling down her cheeks.
sing to all her pets, in the way i did
prohero!bakugou x singer!reader who make eye contact once more. this time, no one looks away.
It was, admittedly, something you forced yourself to look past. Bakugou Katsuki warned you from the beginning that his work was first. It always would be, his dreams and goals, that was who he was.
“Take it or leave it,” he’d told you once, many years ago. “This is what I do.”
And back then, a fool completely head over heels for Katsuki, you’d take it. That was your life, too- texts that went unanswered for days, random updates about his day, calling maybe twice a week to see how you were, and you were fine to sacrifice that part of your sanity all those years ago.
But now, Kirishima posts the random flowers he got his partner on any random Wednesday. Midoriya’s hand clasped under the left hand of his fiancée’s on his timeline. Even Kaminari, who posts tangled legs of his person before he gets up to start the day. It makes you feel sick.
All you want, all you crave, all you’d sell for, is for flowers on any day. A wedding ring that would mean something. Tangled legs in the morning that beg and plead to stay in the warmth of the sheets.
But Katsuki has never been good at giving you that; he’s not a Prince Charming and his life is not a fairytale, you are not his number one priority and it fucking destroys you on the inside.
For years, you try to let it go, to no damn avail. It just hurts too much to think about for too long, knowing that nothings to change or give, and as long as your heart will love him, you’ll be right there waiting, and knowing not whether that love and excitement will always be returned.
But tonight, your dinner sits cold. One place setting untouched, unused and unloved, with your head resting on your hand as the rest of dinner is untouched. The steam stopped flowing from the plates hours ago, and you find yourself still sitting at the table. Your elbows grow sore from perching your chin in your palm.
Your lip quivers as you move to hang your head in sadness, hopelessness, until a knock rouses you from your wallowing. You wipe your eyes and make your way to the locked door, and smile at the guest on the otherside.
"Shoto," you sigh. "Here for your key?"
"Yes," he says simply, nodding his head in appreciation. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking care of the cats. It truly means a lot."
You raise your hand in an attempt to show nonchalance, "it's no big deal at all. I know how busy you get, it's the least I can do for such a good neighbor."
He chuckles, and you forgot how good the sound felt falling from someone else's lips. It feels like it's been ages since you've heard it. He nods his head again, "well, thank you again," he turns on his heel to start walking away.
"Shoto," you say. He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. You fiddle with the door handle, "could I interest you in some cold dinner? I cooked for Katsuki, but he's not here and leftovers never get eaten in this house, and... I... don't mind reheating some for you."
A glimmer of sympathy crosses his eyes, offering a hum, "I would certainly appreciate the warm meal. Thank you."
It's not the guest you'd hoped, but you've had dinner with worse people. Todoroki's been in your life for longer than you care to remember, what's one more dinner shared together?
It's not like Katsuki is here to say otherwise.
Over a lukewarm, slightly-rubberized-from-microwaving dinner, Todoroki listens to you, holding onto every word as he always does when you speak. It feels nice to be heard again, to not be forced to talk to the walls of your home.
You're not sure how long it's been before the front door opens again, and you feel yourself tense up at the heavy boots crossing the threshold, a snarly "I'm home" ringing in the air.
"Hey," you call back. "Shoto and I were wrapping up dinner, I saved-"
"The fuck's he doing here?" He snarls, and Todoroki merely blinks, bored.
"Is it not friendly to drop in for some company?" He asks, and if you knew Todoroki any less, you'd never know it was his way of riling Katsuki up.
And it hasn't failed once.
Katsuki balls his fist, "not when I'm not fucking home, you freak!"
"Katsuki, enough," you snarl back. Two heads whip towards you, one set of eyes filled with fury, the other with surprise. “Maybe you should’ve been here when Shoto stopped by. This weird complex you’re in wouldn’t be a damn issue.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His words are a growl deep behind a wall of teeth, but you’re so tired it doesn’t deter you. You clench your hands and finally curl them into fists. “You got something to say to me?”
You grit your teeth, “Shoto's been here for how long? You haven’t. You wanted him out so bad? You should’ve fucking been here. You weren’t. So bite me.” You quickly spin on your heel as stinging tears burn your waterline, leaving the two heroes alone in the living room.
Katsuki barks your name, “we’re not done here!”
“I am.”
You purposely slam the door, knowing it’s one of his biggest pet peeves. He deserves it, and a lot more. Katsuki yells a bit more, too much of a ferocious tone to fully grasp what he’s saying, and it’s matched with Todoroki’s calm demeanor. He kicks Todoroki out, which you hear, and you brace yourself as he stomps into the bedroom, ready for the explosion that's hurdling straight towards you.
But it never comes.
Instead, you watch the bathroom door open and close, and then a few moments later, you hear the shower turn on. Confusion twists through your mind as you try to piece together just exactly what happened, but ultimately drawing only blanks. You sigh and strip into your pajamas, deciding to call it a night before he comes in and stirs the pot more.
He can do it tomorrow.
Though your heart does break a little when you wake up to find the bed next to you cold and made; he must’ve crashed on the couch last night, too enveloped with his fury to come and make amends.
That's fine. You're patient.
Sunday is tense, a day Katsuki usually reserves off to spend time at home, he's made the executive decision to go into work, leaving you to mourn the love lost in the day, love you usually receive in the melting day. Todoroki comes by again, this time to check in on you after the fight he'd witnessed the day before. And to your disappointment, Katsuki arrives home at the same time, briskly brushing past you and your friend.
Monday comes and goes, once again the bed next to you remains cold in wordless grudge. You're not going to apologize, you have no need to.
Even if this is the end of your relationship.
What's there to work through? After forcing you into a life where affection is miniscule and tokes of appreciation are seen as nothing more than an option, perhaps its for the best to let the embers die, and-
No.
You don't want it to be the end. Not like this. Not now. Not after years of giving Bakugou Katsuki your entire life, promising to stand by him through thick and thin.
You'll bite your tongue until it hurts. Until he decides what he wants to do. You're loyal as a dog to him, after all. The ball remains in his court, always.
By Tuesday, Katsuki comes in, and he doesn’t even look at you. He washes his hands before shambling off to the showers to mimic some form of warmth you’d once provided him. When you hear the shower head turn on, you curl deeper into your corner of the couch, lowering your eyes to try and fight back the tears that sting at your waterline.
Maybe he is done. Maybe this is it. He’s sick of waiting for you, sick of your shit and tired of the exhaust you put on his mentality. Work comes first, and if there was ever a time to enforce it, it would be now.
With a soft whimper to mask your cries, you click off the tv and creep your way up the stairs. It’s dark in your room, the pictures of you and Katsuki invisible until you flick on the light- even then, they’re not as pristine as they had looked just days ago.
The bed is once again cold and feels far too big as you curl up on your side, knowing if you roll onto his, you’ll be met with a hand waking you up and pushing you away.
You’re not in the mood for that tonight.
Not when for months at a time, he’s been shoving you away, be it with mean words or snaps of venom or just actually moving you from his space, you can’t possibly conjure the mood in your little pity party to care for him to disregard you in such brutal ways.
But fuck, god, no matter how much you want to believe it, that you can just as easily fall asleep without him next to you, snores punching through the air and the occasional lull of his head next to yours, you can't, and you hate how bitter and horrible a life without Bakugou Katsuki sounds.
You hate how your life revolves around him, and you wish it didn't, you hate how empty your soul would be without his name coming up on your phone, you hate that you fell so hard for Bakugou Katsuki that a life without him doesn't exist.
You'll never leave him. It makes you feel sick.
What you wouldn't sell, what you wouldn't give, to have Bakugou Katsuki love you just as much as you do, him.
But, as if manifested, no more than an hour later, he does come in. Your name falling from his lips sounds timid, like he's unsure if he should be saying it. "Listen," he snips, lip quivering as he sinks his teeth into the fat, eyes swollen from tears and looking so defeated you're almost convinced it’s not even the Bakugou Katsuki you fell in love with all those years ago.
You slowly sit up, curling up by the pillows as he stands in the doorway, disheveled and frustrated and extremely, clearly, hurt.
“You win,” he whimpers, hands cupped over his mouth to mimic a paper bag, regulating his breathing. They suddenly drop to the side, “you-you-you win. I can’t do this anymore, I won’t, I fucking give, you win-“
“Win what?” You ask, but it’s clear in your demeanor that you know exactly what he’s confessing to, even as you’re dazed from sleep.
You just want him to say it.
Katsuki uses his sleeve to roughly rub the tears out of his eyes, “just fucking stop, okay?” He growls, and it sends a shiver through you as it passes his teeth. “You fucking win, okay? I-I-I was wrong, I never should’ve said shit about you and Todoroki’s friendship, or said shit-fuck about you spending time with him when I should’ve been here.” He lets one, saliva filled sob sneak past his lips, it’s like a dam of words break loose. “But fuck, please just fucking look at me again, I’m sorry, I just hate the idea that you’ll fall for him while trying to get back at me, so please just love me again-“
At that, you jump up to your feet and quickly scurry over to him, brows furrowed in concern but lip pouting out as you toss your arms around him, his knees buckling under your touch and arms limply hanging. “-because I sure wouldn’t blame you if you did leave me for him after how I’ve been treating you.”
“Katsuki,” you soothe, a hand reaching up to scratch at his scalp. “That’s not going to happen. That’s not what this was to show you.” You plant kisses along his jawline, hating the feeling of it quivering under your affection. “This wasn’t to show you that my feelings for Shoto become more romantic when you’re not here; it was to show you what you were missing when you could’ve been here.” He slouches further at your words, and you wonder if they were the correct ones to say.
“Katsuki,” you say again, firmly, gathering his cheeks in your hands. They’re hot, fuck they’re so warm from his distress, and and you feel what little coolness your palms held disappear into the swells. “You’re not going to lose me to Shoto. I would never leave you for Shoto- I’d never leave you for anyone.” He blinks unconvinced at you, and one of his tears roll over your fingers. “But you will miss dinners. You will miss movies. You will miss time with me if you don’t stop only thinking of yourself in this relationship. What you’re doing now clearly isn’t meshing with what I need. What we need from each other. I can only be so flexible before I wonder when we’ll… when I’ll stop bothering.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he mumbles, trying to chase even more coolness in your palms. “I just… I want to be the best-“
“And you are, but you can’t betray yourself by overworking yourself-“
“No,” he bites through his teeth. “The best for you. But… Todoroki can give you the best shit effortlessly, I fucking see it. And…” he winces as he stands up, as if disgusted to even say what dares to slip past his tongue. “And he can give you the life you want, the life you deserve; I just cant fucking watch it anymore.”
“Shhh,” you soothe, pulling his reluctant form into a hug. He tenses, but eventually rests his head in the crook of your neck, trembling hands settling on your waist gently, as if scared you’d break under the touch. Your nails move up to his scalp, scratching lovingly.
“Shoto is a mild-mannered, quiet spoken person who thinks logically about everything he says and does,” You whisper, planting a soft kiss to his pounding temple.
“I love that about him, as a friend- but you, Katsuki, are exciting. And you make loving you just as addictive.”
He does, finally, perk up at that, and you smile against his skin. “Say more stuff like that,” he mumbles, sniffling, but you tighten your arms around him while you giggle softly at the idea of having your old Bakugo back.
“Shoto and I go to the market together, we’re in and out in twenty minutes tops- but if that’s what I wanted, I’d go alone,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, and you grin, “I like bickering with you in the dairy aisle about flavors of milk to get.”
“If I wanted chocolate milk, I’d get the syrup,” he defends, as if you’re standing in the aisle and not picking up the pieces of your relationship in your bedroom.
“And then when the milk is all gone, I have you bitching at me about the syrup getting wasted,” you snort. “It’s just easier if I get-“
“I love you,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning out over your neck. You pause and smile, relishing in the scent of his post-shower aroma.
“I love you,” you say back, kissing whatever your lips can reach against his head. “Once a week, Katsuki. I want to go to bed with you at least once a week, and not be left away absolutely panicked over where the hell you may have gone. I’d like to have dinner with you at some point in the week. I hate missing you, I always have, even when we were teens.” When he finally nods softly, you pull back with your hands cupping his cheeks, the swollen apples looking foreign on your usually solid man. You smirk and use your thumb to wipe his tears, “you’ve always been an ugly crier.”
He chokes softly on a laugh, “why do you think I never do it?” He licks his dry lips before looking you up and down, “leave that shit to you.”
“It is nice seeing you emotional over me for once.”
“Yeah?” He rasps. Then, he tugs you in for a kiss, one that sears and tears at your teeth and tongue, one that feels exhilarating and exhausting all at once, one that encapsulates Katsuki in one swift, dominating move.
It’s jagged and rough, but familiar enough to have you swooning in his bulky, caring arms.
there's a specific leather jacket of dabi's that you've stolen from him. it smells faintly of smoke, and it's oversized to the point where it's only a couple of inches off from reaching your knees—but you wear it regardless whenever you miss him.
he thought he'd lost that stupid jacket. one day it's in his closet, the next it's not. dabi never did care much about materialistic things like clothes and such—but to you? this jacket was special. you normally hid it whenever dabi came over, but he didn't text you beforehand today, and you weren't awake to hear him walk in nor hide it.
he enters through your back window like usual to avoid being seen before he hears the muffled sound of your tv playing. his feet naturally take him towards your living room, and he pauses in the doorway when he sees you wrapped up in his jacket like it was a blanket instead as you slept peacefully on the couch.
"so that's where it went." dabi drawls, taking a moment to observe the sight in front of him before he exhales quietly through his nose. he walks over to the couch, footsteps muffled and quiet before he stops right in front of you. there's a trickle of drool running down the corner of your mouth, and his lip twitches at the sight before a scarred hand is reaching out to swipe it away. he cradles your jaw for a moment afterwards before pulling away
"you're seriously not awake?"
he waits for something to indicate you might be pretending to sleep, a twitch of an eye or a subtle movement from under his jacket—but you remain still and unaware of his presence.
just for good measure, dabi presses a finger against your nose to see if your eyelids react at all to the touch—a trick he's used on victims before to see if they're playing dead—but still, you remain motionless.
he pulls away slowly. now that he's confirmed you're asleep, he lets himself lean forward and place a gentle, lingering kiss onto your temple.
"missed ya today. can't believe you stole my jacket and never said a word about it... you're lucky you're a pretty thief." he murmurs quietly to no response
he stands up afterwards, tucking his hands into his pockets. dabi could leave a note to let you know he visited your place while you were asleep on the couch, but that would mean acknowledging the fact that you stole his jacket—and that would mean he should rightfully demand you return it.
but, the thing was, the sight of you curled up in it was something that made his chest feel tight. he doesn't want his jacket back knowing you wear it, but outright saying you could keep it made him sound soft—and dabi wasn't soft. he was all rough edges and sharp tongued.
touya... touya was soft, but not dabi.
so, he'll pretend he doesn't know you have his jacket. he'll leave your apartment quietly and show up a couple days later acting as if he has no idea you're deliberately hiding something of his—and you'll never know that dabi came by at all.
